Nothing of this kind was ever done
without mother's aid.
There were few secrets between Wishing-Brae and the Manse, and Mrs.
Wainwright had told our mother how opportunely Grace had been able to
assist her father in his straits. Great was our joy.
"You must remember, dear," said mamma, when she returned from seeing
Miss Gardner off, "that your purse is not exhaustless, though it is a
long one for a girl. Debts have a way of eating up bank accounts; and
what will you do when your money is gone if you still find that the wolf
menaces the door at Wishing-Brae?"
"That is what I want to consult you about, Aunt Dorothy." (I ought to
have said that our mother was Aunt Dorothy to the children at the Brae,
and more beloved than many a real auntie, though one only by courtesy.)
"Frances knows my ambitions," Grace went on. "I mean to be a money-maker
as well as a money-spender; and I have two strings to my bow. First, I'd
like to give interpretations."
The mother looked puzzled. "Interpretations?" she said. "Of what,
pray?--Sanscrit or Egyptian or Greek? Are you a seeress or a witch, dear
child?"
"Neither. In plain English I want to read stories and poems to my
friends and to audiences--Miss Wilkins' and Mrs. Stuart's beautiful
stories, and the poems of Holmes and Longfellow and others who speak to
the heart. Not mere elocutionary reading, but simple reading, bringing
out the author's meaning and giving people pleasure.
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